


Dum Spiro Spero

by velvet_and_shortchanged



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Loved One's Death, M/M, Nightmare, sorry for the 9am angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-22 23:51:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18143813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvet_and_shortchanged/pseuds/velvet_and_shortchanged
Summary: "dum spiro spero" latin; while I breathe, I hope.Jake has a nightmare.





	Dum Spiro Spero

**Author's Note:**

> welp i didn't post all week and then wrote this drabble. Oh well! Fuck scheduling

You've had the same dream for months on end.

The game was long gone, but not in heart nor in mind. Simply pushed back to a dark place.

You aren't in Propit. No poofy yellow pajamas. No comfortable shorts, either. You aren't exactly sure what you're wearing- you can't feel the clothing settled against your skin, but there isn't the breeze drifting over you, either. You are just, _there_.

You open your eyes with a deep breath. _In. Out._ Something smells vaguely of wood and plastic burning in the same fire, and there's a soft crackle-pop around you. You stand on a ledge- no, not a ledge. A tall spire, flattened at the top. Several more surround you, pink-taupe mesa rock, smoother than it should be. Dark chasms linger below. Your foot kicks up light pink dust- it floats in a cloud momentarily, before gathering into a shape midair and tumbling down, down, down. You are thankful you aren't scared of heights.

The air is stuffy, although you appear to be outside. There is no smoky haze visible, but you feel something in the air, pressing against your lungs and ribcage. A fading blue sky shifts around you- the Game Over sign hangs aloft still, just like when it was all over. It flickers faintly, the bright color having lost its luster, greens and oranges now olive and russet. The swirl of blue gray sky above you seems to be malfunctioning, small cracks showing dark nothingness, although nothing goes in or out from what you can see, it's just black matter. 

It is beautiful, and you are suddenly hit with a wave of fear.

_Where is this? Where are you?_

The smell of burnt... something, has overtaken your senses now, rubber and rust forcing your eyes to water and your glasses to fog slightly. Blinking furiously, you slip them off your face, reaching down to clean them, before realizing there is no clothing to wipe them on.

As the frames hook over your ears, the scene has changed. The pink rock spire directly in front of you looks wider, longer, flatter. A large pile sits atop it, rectangular boxes, a chattering hum seeming to have filled the air, the low rattle chiming in your ears repetitively.

You have to step forwards, getting another wave of smoke to wash over you, just to see what's in this pile.

Televisions. So many televisions. Big and small, old ones with wooden frames and flat screens with wide curved screens. They are all on, showing you static, the soft crackling quickly filling your ears, a repetition thrumming through your head still, getting gradually louder as you approach the pile.

Your first instinct?

_Climb the damn thing._

You begin to scale the pile surprisingly easily- it is as if the massive television collection is nailed together. It doesn't shake or wobble under your weight, and you are nearly halfway up after a few minutes. Your hand quickly finds a grip on the wooden edge of one of the televisions, and you feel cool air mist over your fingers.

 You've reached the top.

Shifting your weight, you pulled yourself up, glancing down- oh, clothes! You're back in your godtier outfit, and your bright Hope symbol shines below you proudly. You're rather pleased with that, it's rather comfortable. 

A slightly calmer demeanor washes over you with the sudden familiarity, and you scramble up, sitting atop the television and glancing out below. 

The pink spires look no different, but the sky is turning greyer. Wherever you are, you can't particularly recall it. But it isn't a bad place, from what you can gather. The low humming of the static televisions is peaceful.

And then a piercing cry fills your ears, and the sky goes dark. Not one human, not one avian either. It wasn't like _anything_ you heard during the game. Nothing at all. You have no idea where it came from.

The pink spires are suddenly descending, and you are rising higher and higher. You scrambled to your feet, watching as the ground becomes further and further. The wind ruffles your hair, blowing dark curls over your glasses, and the Game Over sign, once strong and bright in the distance, is faded and cracking. Something is _terribly_ wrong, and you aren't at all sure what it is.

You feel worry and confusion pumping through you. _What changed?_

You're approaching something, a long ledge, similar to the metal from the game. It looks like one of the ships. You are simultaneously worried and relieved. Something you recognize, hallelujah!

You take a deep breath, and even as you rise higher, your breath doesn't falter in the altitude. You stand strong, looking over the edge, trying to catch a glance at what you're approaching.

The outline of something red catches your eye.

You've made it to the top. The televisions continue to rise, but you quickly hop off, onto the white metallic ledge, landing quieter than actually possible considering your weight and the material. You watch momentarily as they float out of view. Goodbye, televisions! They were a good climbing device.

You turn on your heel, looking back to the red you had seen before. 

And you lose control.

You had felt control over your limbs before, you were able to move and decide what to do, even if a little voice nudged you to do certain things. But now that was all gone, because you had been here before, you had already done this, and it's one of the things you have spent _years_ and _years_ trying to erase from your mind.

Your legs force you forwards. You feel as though you are trapped in this body that is your with no control, watching from behind glass. You bend, kneeling in front of the too familiar red box. _You hate this box._ This box made you detest the color red just a little bit more.

You turn the box over. Your eyes sting in the cold wind, and your chest hurts. You're breathing, but not enough. You know what's in this box. You don't want to open this box. You _really_ don't want to-

You open the box, fingers shaking slightly, but you open it, and his head is there. You knew it was there all along, you've seen that box in your head a hundred times, but it still made your chest _ache_ and _ache_ , and your stomach twist itself into complex knots at the sight of his lifeless face. 

His skin waxy, shades sliding off his ears- you don't even want to refer to this head as "him" because, god, it really isn't.

You can't breathe. Your lungs aren't working.

You push the box away, and with a lurch of your stomach, you regain control of your limbs, clutching at your chest and feeling as though someone socked you in the stomach. The image crowds your mind. You hated seeing him like that. _Hated it._

It's silent. The hum of televisions has gone, and the only sound for a moment is you, breathing erratically, mumbling incoherent worries.

The Game Over sign finally falls. A large black void space takes over.

_You've failed him. You haven't won._

This is the real end.

* * *

 

You tense up and your eyes flick open.

_You've failed him. You haven't won._

The thoughts echo in your head, and a hand once tucked under your side, now slightly numb, reaches up and flattens over where your hand had been in the nightmare moments ago, clutching at your shirt. It isn't even your shirt, it's one of his, a tank top you stole from his drawers. 

_You've failed him. You haven't won._

It rings in your ears. You can practically see the red box. 

"Mmh..?"

A hand brushed over your cheek. _Dirk's_ hand. Warm and solid and real and _alive_. You let out a breath you weren't entirely aware you had been holding. 

"Why're y' up...?" His voice was sleepy and crackly, and you remember when it wasn't nearly so deep. It warms you to your very core, and you suddenly remember you aren't in a dream or a nightmare, you can move and talk all of your own accord once more.

"Just... not the most pleasant of dreams. Go back to sleep, love." You tried to keep your voice calm and soft, but it cracked slightly on "dream", making you cringe a bit. Ah, damn. Without your glasses, Dirk's expression is fuzzy, but he scoots closer, entangling your legs and rubbing his ankle up to yours.

"'M here for a reason," He murmured, sighing quietly and slipping his head under your chin, gel-free hair tickling your neck. His very _real_ , very much still attached head.

You can't resist. Your fingers slip down his face, over his jaw, grazing the scar along his neck. You really were pathetic, but you just needed that extra reassurance right now.

"... one of those, huh." 

He understood. You hadn't really even talked about it, but he knew how your eyes sometimes washed over the white scarring there with mild worry and regret sometimes. It just hurt.

"Unfortunately so." You sighed, shutting your eyes tightly, forcing your fingers down to curl up against his shoulder. Muscle meets your fingertips, muscle that you recognize.

"Hey."

You blink, glancing down to Dirk. With him this close, you can see him perfectly peachy, a slight tilted smile gracing his face, and shadeless eyes tired but happy.

"'M here. Alive. Love you." The hint of a coo at the end of his brief words makes your heart swell and chest tight in a good way. You love him half asleep, nearly filterless and often, just so damn happy.

"Love you most, dearest" passed between your lips. His arms wound around your neck, latching there as he pressed his forehead to your collar bone. 

You haven't failed him just yet. He's happier than you had seen him in the past. 

You haven't lost. You don't think your time is up just yet.

All you can do now is hope.

 


End file.
